Can't Stop
by lost.the.ability.to.even
Summary: Ron has always been weird about his food: eating a lot, and eating it fast. He knew he was fairly thin, but he also knew his eating would catch up to him, and he was terrified. Trigger warning for eating disorders (bulimia).
1. Chapter 1

**I was looking at Harry Potter eating disorder fics (I have no good explanation for this) and discovered that there was only ONE about Ron! Well, immediately, the wheels started turning and I started writing. Because Ron is _always_ eating in the books/movies, it just seemed to make sense to me. Or maybe my mind just works that way. I don't know. But yeah. I need to stop talking. Er, writing.**

**So, trigger warnings for eating disordered thoughts and behaviours. If this is a touchy subject for you, please don't read. I do not currently have a beta reader, so all mistakes are mine.**

**Anyway, I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I want to own it because crap like this would be canon if I did.**

**Enjoy! Er, well, maybe not _enjoy_. So...Read on!**

* * *

Ron had always been weird about his food. Maybe it was because he had to fight his siblings for it, maybe it was because he was presented so much of it on a daily basis with his mother's cooking and then at the regular Hogwarts' feasts. But he took large portions and ate it fast. He fantasized about his next meal and picked out what he would eat hours in advance. When food was in front of him, Ron would eat it.

He knew that he was thin, but he also knew that eating like this would eventually catch up with him, and he was terrified. But he couldn't stop.

Hermione kept commenting on him eating like a pig, and how it was amazing how much he could consume. Ron agreed with her: his consumption both astounded and disgusted him on a daily basis.

For the welcome back feast of their fourth year, there was an incredibly rich display of food, and Ron was pretty excited for it. He couldn't decide what he wanted, so he just took a little of everything, and then went back for more. His stomach soon strained against the waistband of his pants, and he even had to undo a button to relieve some of the tightness.

And he continued to eat.

He wasn't sure why. He knew he was full, even too full for comfort, but he just kept stuffing food in his mouth.

Hermione looked at him strangely. "I feel like I've seen you get more food five times now."

His face heated and he sheepishly nodded.

"I don't know how you do it, Ronald."

"Me, either," he replied, mouth crammed full of his third helping of pudding.

After the feast was over, Ron could hardly stand up straight.

"Are you okay, Ron?" Harry asked.

"I think I might have overdone it a bit on the pie. And pudding. And chicken legs. And… ugh. I feel horrible."

Harry smiled a bit. "Let's just get to bed. You can sleep it off." They started walking towards the common room.

"I might have to skip breakfast tomorrow," Ron said. "I'll probably still be full."

Harry scoffed. "You'll be ravenous by morning."

When they got to their dorm, Harry immediately changed and got into bed. Ron, however, saw something that caught his eye.

Picking up a fallen chocolate frog lying next to his friend's trunk, he asked Harry, "Is this yours?"

"I dunno. Maybe?"

"Can I have it?"

"I thought you said you were full."

Ron thought this over. He was full, but the chocolate frog was here, and how can he pass up an opportunity to have chocolate? He shrugged. "But can I have it?"

"Knock yourself out. Just don't wake me up when you start vomiting." And with that, Harry rolled over and went to sleep.

Vomiting? Why would he throw up? You eat to keep it down, and Ron had an iron stomach. The last time he threw up was the slug incident. Well, and the spider incident. But that was in second year. But maybe he'd feel better if…

He didn't exactly know what happened next, but Ron was somehow in the bathroom kneeling in front of the toilet, waiting for his dinner to come back up. He tried clenching his stomach, poking it, willing the food to come out. He just wanted to be rid of it, feel better again.

He stuck his fingers down his throat, because he had heard something from somewhere about how this makes someone throw up. Nothing happened. He stuck them in farther, wiggled them around a bit, and he gagged but noting came up. He tried again. This time, success.

He did this about six more times, each procuring slightly bigger bits of partly digested food as he went on. He stopped before he could get it all out. He was shaking and sweating all over. What had he done?

He quickly flushed, washed up, and exited the bathroom. Thankfully, his roommates were all asleep. Ron hastily followed suit.

* * *

Ron woke up with a burning sensation in his throat and a terrible taste in his mouth. The events of the previous night crashed down on him. This wasn't normal. Normal people didn't shove their fingers down their throats when they were full.

So he tried to forget about it.

He went through his day normally. Well, as normal as possible. At meals, he kept thinking that he could now eat all he wanted without getting fat. But he didn't want to do… that thing – again. So he ate a little lighter than usual. And no one noticed anything different.

This continued for a while, until he almost forgot about that night. Almost. It was still a nagging thought at the back of his mind, but it was a thought he could deal with.

Life went on. Harry was chosen to be in the Triwizard Tournament, and even though he knew he should be there for his friend, Ron just felt so mad. How come _he_ never got this kind of attention? It was always the famous Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.

But he found that he actually was nervous for Harry. They were best friends, after all. And he found himself eating. And eating. And eating. He told himself to stop, but it didn't work.

So when Ron was supposed to be watching his friend battle a dragon, he was instead in a deserted bathroom, throwing up his overly large breakfast. Thankfully, he made it to the pitch before it was Harry's turn, so he didn't feel too bad. He even didn't feel really guilty about making himself sick again.

He and Harry made up and everything was fine once more. Well, until it wasn't.

The Yule Ball happened, and he was miserable. His dress robes looked awful on him, and it wasn't just the frills.

While watching Hermione dance her heart out with Krum, Ron stuffed himself silly before storming out so he could puke and forget.

The fourth time he does it is after the second challenge. He doesn't deserve someone as good as Harry. He shouldn't have been the stolen treasure. He's not good enough for that. Harry would desert him if he knew what Ron was doing to his body. So, instead of eating during dinner, he goes down to the kitchens so he can gorge himself privately. There was also a bathroom down there.

It soon became a regular occurrence for Ron to go down to the kitchens for his fix. He even once stole Harry's invisibility cloak when he had an urge in the middle of the night.

The house elves weren't stupid. They watched him curiously, and supplied him with all the food he could eat and then some, and turned away when his retching was heard from the adjacent restroom. Ron almost felt kind of bad, making them keep this secret. But not bad enough to stop.

* * *

**So yeah. First chapter. Tell me what you think. And stuff. I like reviews. Wink wink. Cough cough. Smiley face. Laugh out loud. Roll on the floor like Draco Malfoy.**

**Kay. I'm done.**


	2. Chapter 2

**So I've had this written for a few weeks now, but my computer's internet is broken... or something... Me and technology don't get along well. But here it is! Read on, virtual friends! But be cautious of the trigger warnings: eating disordered thoughts/behaviors.**

**By the way, I don't own Harry Potter.**

* * *

Ron stared at himself in the mirror. He'd gotten fatter. Months of throwing up everything he ate led to him getting fatter. It wasn't fair! He just wanted to feel better, look better.

His heart pounded faster, and anger welled up in him. He needed food. Now.

The only problem was that everything in number 12, Grimmauld Place was to be shared with everyone. He wouldn't be able to go out to replace the food he ate. Everyone else would have to go without dinner, and it would be all his fault.

It had been three days since the end of term, and Ron hadn't been able to eat or puke since then. He was miserable, and all he wanted was some goddamned food.

Even though he knew he would regret it, he took everything he could find in the kitchen and ate it and threw it back up. That was all he ever did, nowadays. Eat, eat, eat, puke, puke, puke.

He sat on his bed and listened to his erratic heartbeat and watched his shaking hands. He listened to his mom go on about the missing food, interrogating every person in the house. Ron pretended to take a nap instead.

When dinner was called, he didn't get up. Couldn't get up. He couldn't bear to face his mother after what he had done. He eventually did end up falling asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Ron woke up starving. He wanted more than the meager amount of cereal he'd been given. He looked down into his empty bowl. "I'm still hungry, Mum."

Mrs. Weasley sighed and handed him an apple. This would never fill him up, but he still ate it. He then went upstairs to get rid of his breakfast.

This routine continued. Ron was never full, but he still threw up whatever he ate. He sometimes slipped up and ate everything, and then he'd feel horrible. His mom found him once, while he was inhaling the entire kitchen. "So this is what happens to all the food…" she sighed. But she didn't stop him.

He felt guilty about his Prefect badge. He really didn't deserve it. Why would Dumbledore trust someone who couldn't even bloody eat without throwing it back up? But he still wore it around like the prat he was.

Ron had never been more grateful for the summer to be over. He couldn't stand all the sneaking around and stealing food and illegally using magic to muffle the sounds of his puking.

The welcome back feast offered the much needed comfort of piles of food. But then that Umbridge woman wouldn't stop talking, and Ron could feel the food sitting in his stomach, his body slowly absorbing all the fat and calories. He dashed to his room and spent the next hour getting rid of dinner. He walked out of the bathroom to see Neville sitting up in his bed.

"I heard you being sick," he said.

Ron shrugged. "Must've eaten something funny."

"You were in there for over an hour."

He nodded. "I feel better now. You should go to bed."

"So should you."

* * *

He found Hermione staring at him a lot. Well, it was a little strange when someone ate enough to feed a whole family, but Ron still felt uncomfortable.

"Do you ever stop eating?" Hermione asked one time.

Ron looked over the pamphlet in his hand and replied through a full mouth, "What? I'm hungry." But he felt a hot shame rise up in him and couldn't look anyone in the eye for the rest of the meal.

* * *

Ron knew he was being stupid trying out for the Quidditch team. There were people so much better than him, and it was a stroke of luck that he actually made it. He just knew he would disappoint the team.

But with all the Quidditch practices and homework and prefect duties, there wasn't a ton of time for his…other hobby. Ron figured this was a good thing. After all, throwing up more than the necessary times after meals probably wasn't very good for him.

Well, none of this had been very good for his body. His throat and stomach hurt almost constantly now, and he knew that if kept asking Madam Pomfrey for a soothing potion she would become concerned. He was nearly always tired and got light-headed quite often.

Quidditch practices were grueling, and he had nearly fallen off his broom on a few occasions as the result of a dizzy spell, though he passed it off merely as being clumsy. He told himself he'd throw up less, or maybe just eat less in general, but he always went back on these promises.

And the worst part was that he didn't look any different. Well, his face was puffy and he'd be bloated sometimes, but he hadn't lost any weight. On the other hand, he really started doing this so he wouldn't _gain_ any weight, so in that aspect, he had been successful.

He didn't know how much more of this his body could take.

Sometimes, droplets of blood wound up in the toilet, and Ron would panic and not puke for a few days. But then he'd be horribly bloated and feel absolutely disgusting and fat, and he would start again. He just couldn't stay away. Besides, the blood wasn't even that much. He had probably just scratched his throat with his fingernails or something.

But one afternoon, there were more than just a few drops. A lot more. Pale and shaky, Ron rose and exited the bathroom. He found Hermione in the common room, poring over some book or other.

"Hermione," he whispered.

"I'm a bit busy right now," she replied.

"No, Hermione, I need help. I think something's wrong."

This immediately caught her attention, and she surveyed him. "What's happening?"

Ron put a hand up to his throat. "I'm bleeding."

"Where?" She looked him over once more.

"I… I got sick and threw up blood. Like, a lot of blood. I think something's seriously wrong with me, Hermione."

Her eyes widened. "I think you should go to Madam Pomfrey."

"Why can't you fix it?" Ron really didn't want to go to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey would figure out that this was more than a one-time thing.

"I have absolutely no training in medicine. And I'm not even sure what's going on."

Ron, however, had a pretty good idea of what was happening to his body: it was giving up. He pushed the limit just a little too far for a little too long.

Hermione dragged him out of the portrait hole and up to the hospital wing. She repeated his story to Madam Pomfrey, who looked worried, but gave him a potion that would stop the bleeding. He dropped onto a bed to steady himself, and was told he would have to stay the night.

"Why do I have to stay? I'll be fine once the potion starts working, right?"

Madam Pomfrey looked over him, a look of uncertainty on her face. "I just want to keep an eye on you."

* * *

He was served dinner in the hospital wing, and was thankful that he didn't have to be around so many people when he stuffed himself like a pig. He didn't care that he had just thrown up blood. In fact, the potion made him feel stronger, like he could handle more than he originally thought. He then told Madam Pomfrey, who had been watching him carefully, that he was taking a shower, and proceeded to rid himself of the food.

He stepped out of the bathroom to find the nurse waiting for him.

"Have you been sick again?" she asked sternly.

Ron's heart skipped a beat, but he nodded and looked at his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thought I was feeling better, but I guess not."

She took in his response, nodded slowly, then asked him to sit down with her. "You must have been throwing up pretty violently this morning if you vomited blood."

He shrugged. "I guess so."

"And you weren't at all worried that you might throw up again after you ate dinner?"

"I was hungry…"

She sighed. "I just want you to rest now. You can go back to classes tomorrow, but please come to me if you get sick again."

Ron nodded. "Of course," he replied.

* * *

Lying in the hospital bed, uncomfortable and bloated, Ron seriously debated telling the truth. He couldn't survive like this much longer, and he knew it. But, at the same time, he didn't want to give it up. It was comforting, and very much a habit by now. He eventually decided to sleep on it and make the final conclusion in the morning.

The only problem was that Ron couldn't sleep. He didn't know what to do with himself, and he wanted food. He wandered the hospital wing, searching for anything that looked edible, to no avail. He decided to risk going to the kitchens.

Miraculously, he was not caught. The house elves seemed to recognize him from the previous year, and soon filled his order.

Halfway through his obscenely large pile of food, the door creaked open and Harry slowly took off his invisibility cloak. The two stared at each other.

"Hermione told me you were sick, so I was a bit confused when I saw you in the kitchens." He held up the Marauder's Map. Ron stood abruptly. "What are you doing?"

"I have to go." And then he ran.

Harry found him quickly, behind a bush by the lake, fingers down throat, food splattering on the ground. Ron knew Harry was watching, but he couldn't stop.

When he was done, he rinsed his mouth and hands with the lake water, splashed his face, and started back towards the castle, avoiding Harry's eyes.

"What the bloody hell was that, Ron?" Harry whispered harshly.

He walked faster, but Harry still kept up.

"Why were you doing that?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Then help me understand!"

But Ron started running. He got back to the hospital wing before he blacked out.

* * *

**So...yeah. See ya next time!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey. Sorry this took a bit. I really did have the intention of posting it the past few days, but... well, yeah. Life happened and I couldn't access the internet. Moving on, here's the next chapter!**

* * *

A huddle of faces loomed over Ron's hospital bed. He blearily opened his eyes, and was immediately embraced in one of his mother's bone-crushing hugs. She sniffled but didn't say anything, which Ron found odd. In fact, nobody was saying anything. Harry stood a little apart from the group, staring intently at his shoes.

He then noticed something sticking out of the back of his hand, connecting to a bag of clear liquid on a stand at his bedside. "What is this?" he asked quietly. No one said anything. "What's happening?" Still nothing. "Someone tell me what the bloody hell is going on!" Anxious glances were exchanged, and Mrs. Weasley eventually spoke up.

"We need to understand what's been going on with you," she said carefully, not quite catching his eyes.

"Nothing is going on," he replied shortly.

"So last night was 'nothing'?" Harry stepped forward. There was a fire in his eyes, but also a hint of sadness. "I find you eating enough food for five, and then making yourself throw it back up. How is that nothing?!"

"It's not a big deal," Ron mumbled.

"Oh, yes it very well is," replied Mrs. Weasley. "How many times have you done that?"

He shrugged.

She let out a cry of frustration before sitting down in a nearby chair, head in hands, taking long, shuddering breaths. "This summer," she let out. "This is what you were doing. How could I not notice?"

"It's not your fault, Mum."

They were silent for a while. Ron examined the thing in his arm. Ginny stared at him, expressionless. Hermione looked from him to the window, tear tracks evident on her face. The twins shuffled their feet. Fred broke the stillness by saying, "I guess we should keep you away from the puking pastilles," which received a feeble laugh.

"So, do I go back to class after this?"

"I believe," George said, looking to the others for reassurance, "that you're going to St. Mungo's."

Ron shot up in bed. "St. Mungo's? Why do I have to go there?"

Madam Pomfrey stepped forward. "This has wreaked absolute havoc on your body. You're dehydrated, you have severe electrolyte imbalance, and your esophagus is this close to ripping open. Again."

"Can't you just wave your wand and fix all of that?" Ron asked.

"No, I can't. That's what this IV is for. It's rehydrating you."

He stared at the foreign object in his arm, a hint of disgust on his face. "What are they going to do with me there?" he asked. No one knew. "Well then why am I going?"

"What would you prefer us to do?" Mrs. Weasley snapped.

"Just let me go back to class. I can do this on my own."

"No, you can't. You've already shown us that. We don't want you hurting yourself even more."

"I'm not hurting myself," Ron replied stubbornly.

"Then what is all this?" Hermione spoke up, gesturing to the IV and the general hospital wing.

Ron hesitated a moment, thinking. Finally, he said, "Minor complications."

"For God's sake, Ronald." Hermione seemed like she was going to say more, but instead she bit her lip and looked away.

"I think he has a point, though."

"Oh, don't side with him, Fred," Mrs. Weasley exclaimed.

"Listen, Mum." She stared at the twins hard. "They don't exactly have a ward for something like this at St. Mungo's."

Mrs. Weasley looked to Madam Pomfrey. "They must be able to do something with him," she said, a note of panic in her voice.

"Uh…" The nurse thought for a moment. "I suppose I could owl them. If they can't help, I'm sure they could recommend a place."

"Thank you, Poppy." Mrs. Weasley gripped the other woman's hands, then sat down in a chair near Ron's bed. "Now you all," she turned towards the students, "get to your classes."

They left slowly, some giving small smiles to the boy on the bed, others stalking off rather huffily, namely Harry.

"You should try to get some rest." His mom squeezed his hand. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"Thanks, Mum." He rolled over and honestly tried to sleep, but he just kept thinking about what was going to happen to him. He'd never be allowed to continue puking, but if he didn't, he'd become incredibly fat, and the though of that was unbearable.

Somehow, he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, he was being gently shaken awake. "Ronald, sweetie, you need to eat some dinner, now."

He groaned and blearily opened his eyes. A large tray of food sat on his bedside table, and Ron felt a wave of impending doom. He could eat all he could handle and puke, but his mother would know what was going on, and probably not let him into the bathroom. Or, he could refuse to eat so he wouldn't get fat, but that would also worry his mom. The thought of eating normally barely crossed his mind. He didn't even know what normal was anymore.

"I'm actually not that hungry," he said, but his traitorous stomach let out a large growl.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ronald. Eat something."

Moodily, Ron grabbed at the tray and began his routine. Once all the food was gone, he got up and started towards the bathroom.

"Ronald…" his mom said warningly. He stared at her, then slammed the door in her face. "You don't have to do this!" A spell was cast on Ron's part, and the door locked.

"I'm really sorry, Mum," he said. "Please don't come in. I don't want you to have to watch."

But she listened. Ron felt her presence at the door while he threw up his dinner. He heard her muffled sobs, and waves of guilt crashed through him.

When he got out, he saw him mom kneeling next to the door, head against the wall and tears flowing steadily down her face. She looked up at him. He looked away. "I'm sorry," was all he could say, voice raw and full of pent up emotions.

* * *

**Whew. So. That happened. Stay tuned for chapter four (to be posted at some point in the near or distant future).**


	4. Chapter 4

**Good morning starshine! The earth says hello! And so do I. Thank you all so much for the positive reviews. This is a pretty personal subject for me, and I get a warm and fuzzy feeling that it's being so well received.**

**Anyway, onwards!**

**(Oh, um, by the way? I don't own Harry Potter. I don't know how often I've been putting this up, but probably not often enough.)**

* * *

The next morning, he was ushered out of bed by a stern-looking Madam Pomfrey. "Your mother told me what happened last night," she said while watching the bed make itself. Ron didn't reply. "She's really worried about you, you know."

"I know," he said quietly.

Madam Pomfrey turned to face him. "She went home to get changed, and then she's taking you to an interview at a Muggle hospital."

"Muggle hospital? St. Mungo's can't do anything?"

"I'm afraid not. But don't worry; you'll adjust." Madam Pomfrey handed him a pile of clothes. "Put these on and just sit tight. Would you like something to eat?"

"No."

"Right. Okay, I'll see you in a bit." She drew the curtain around him. Ron sighed. He hadn't meant for it to go this far. Everything just… spiraled out of control.

* * *

They had to take a Muggle car to the hospital, and Ron loathed every second of the unnatural lurching. The building was a few stories tall, a large gray brick. It looked utterly depressing.

"Do we really have to do this?" he asked as they approached the entrance.

His mom looked at him, her eyes sad. "What other choice do we have?"

And Ron knew that he couldn't retaliate. So they walked into the building silently, were greeted by a perky brunette, and directed to the fourth floor. The door to the unit was locked, from the inside and out, which gave him an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. He could understand not wanting people wandering in, but why would they have to stay trapped inside?

"You must be Mrs. Weasley," said the woman who let them in. She was petite, with short brown hair held back by a headband. She and his mom shook hands, and then she looked to him. "And you must be Ronald."

"It's Ron," he replied coldly.

"Ron it is, then. How about we all go to my office for a chat?" Mrs. Weasley gave her a gracious smile and followed her through the various hallways. Ron took in his surroundings. Comfortable couches, carpets on practically every surface, and one of those moving picture screens that Muggles seem to like so much. A cluster of girls sat in front of the screen, huddles under various blankets. They stared as Ron passed, and took in their gaunt faces and frail bodies, deciding he was in the wrong place.

The woman introduced herself as Stephanie, and Ron slumped in a chair inside her small office. He tuned out almost as soon as the two women started talking, but was brought back to attention by a question directed at him.

"Huh?"

"Would you feel comfortable talking with me alone?" she asked again.

"Sure." Mrs. Weasley stood, gave him a kiss on his forehead (which Ron tried to squirm out of), and left the room.

Stephanie looked at him. "Do you think you can tell me why you're here today?"

"My mum is worried, I guess."

"And why is that?"

"I puke sometimes?" Ron shrank further in his seat, feeling incredibly embarrassed.

"How often is 'sometimes'?"

Ron floundered. If he didn't lie, she might freak out. If he did lie, she might not believe him. He decided to shrug his shoulders.

"Okay, well how many times did you do that yesterday?"

"I dunno, like, two?"

"Hmm." Stephanie jotted something down on the pad of paper in her lap. She then scrunched her eyebrows together and leaned forward a bit. "Did you binge before purging?"

"Huh?"

"Did you eat a lot of food before making yourself throw up?" she rephrased.

"I guess…"

Another note on the paper. "Can you walk me through what a typical binge looks like?"

"I don't want to talk about this. It's stupid." The truth was, thinking about it made him want to do it, and he couldn't. His heart started pounding a bit faster, but he crossed his arms over his chest and stared icily towards the door. He heard the scratching of pen on paper.

"I know that this is hard for you, but it's very important that you help me understand what's been going on for you this past while." He continued to avoid her eyes. "Okay, can you tell me when you started purging?"

He could remember vividly, yet he shrugged yet again.

"A general time frame?"

"Fourth year," he said softly. "Beginning of fourth year."

"And you were how old?"

"Fourteen."

"And you're fifteen now?"

"Almost sixteen."

"Okay. So do you remember what precipitated purging?"

Ron picked at the loose skin around his fingernail. "I felt full, I guess? I had eaten more than usual. I don't know why, but I couldn't stop. And then I just felt so gross."

"So you decided to make yourself throw up."

Ron felt the anger from before bubbling to the surface. "I didn't know what else to do!"

"I'm not criticizing you. Just trying to get the facts straight."

Ron leaned back into his seat. "Then yeah. You got them straight."

"What happened then?"

"I didn't do it for a bit, but then it started up again."

"How many times would you say you were bingeing and purging a day?"

"At that point, about five or six."

She was writing furiously on her pad. "Can you walk me through an average day?"

"I don't really want to." Talking about it brought back many memories, along with some fresh urges. He was already starving and he wanted to… binge? The word sounded weird.

"Maybe we can talk more some other time." She tapped her pen against her lips, then stood up. "For now, I would like you to come with me."

He silently followed her down a long corridor, at the end of which held two small rooms, both set up like a very condensed doctor's office. There were examination tables, a scale, and something that Ron was not familiar with, along with a desk.

"Can you step backwards onto the scale for me?"

"Why do I have to be backwards?" Ron asked, not moving.

"It's standard procedure. You can talk to your therapist if you'd like to get off blind weights, but for now, this is what we have to do."

"Wait... therapist? I'm staying here?" he asked, a feeling of dread coursing through him.

She gave him a pitying look. "I thought you knew that."

"I… I thought I was coming here just for an interview." He looked around desperately, trying to find a way out. He couldn't stay here. He just couldn't. He would be forced to eat and not allowed to puke, and then he would get fat. "Does my mum know?"

The woman nodded. "I'm sorry you didn't know, sweetie, but I just need you to step on the scale right now."

Ron glared at her, but grudgingly stepped on the scale. He had never really weighed himself before, but suddenly felt the intense desire to know. Surreptitiously, he peeked over his shoulder. 73 flashed out at him. **(1)**

"Hey, no looking," Stephanie said sharply. But all Ron could think was 73. He didn't know if that was good or bad, but it certainly felt like way too much.

Stephanie took his height, strapped an inflating cuff around his arm, and stuck a thermometer under his tongue. Ron numbly obliged as he was pinched and prodded. He listened as he was told he had a heart arrhythmia, mild anemia, esophagitis, and low potassium and electrolyte levels. **(2)** He had no idea what most of this meant, but it sounded serious. He might have cared a bit more, if he wasn't so focused on how he would survive for forever long without bingeing and purging.

His mom had packed a bag of his clothes, and it had already been deposited at the nurse's station to be searched. Once he walked out of the office, he was encased in a tight hug.

"I just found out you were being admitted this morning," she said into the embrace. "I thought you wouldn't come if you knew you were staying. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," he replied, even though it wasn't. Nothing was alright.

She pulled away and wiped at a tear that had leaked out. "They're going to help you," she said.

He wanted to reply that he didn't need help, he wasn't thin enough for help, but seeing the hopeful expression on his mother's face, Ron decided against it. Instead, he quietly asked, "Am I not allowed to have my wand?"

"Of course not," she replied swiftly. "You're in a Muggle hospital, surrounded by Muggles, you will pretend to be one of them."

He groaned. "This is going to be torture."

"Oh, you'll get used to it."

There were a few more hugs, some awkward jokes made on Ron's part, and then his mother left. He looked around at his surroundings, his home for God knows how long.

Bloody hell, what had he gotten himself into?

* * *

**(1) - This weight is in kilograms, and it converts to about 163 lbs, or 11 st 7 lb. It always bugs me when I don't know a weight in my units, so I figured you guys might appreciate this.**

**(2) - A heart arrhythmia is an improper heartbeat, whether it be too fast, too slow, or irregular. I'm saying that Ron has an irregular heartbeat. Anemia is a condition where the body doesn't have enough healthy red blood cells or hemoglobin. People with anemia typically experience fatigue, abnormal heartbeat, dizziness, lack of concentration, and insomnia, among other things. Esophagitis is irritation or inflammation of the esophagus.**

**And now I am done pretending to be a doctor. Anyway, hope you liked this chapter! And I now have absolutely no idea where to go with this. Any suggestions?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello there! So, I was deciding whether or not to expand the end of this chapter, but then I realized that I didn't know what else to write and you guys would probably want an update. So here you are!**

**Don't read this if it triggers you, etc. etc.**

**I don't own anything you recognize.**

* * *

Apparently, he had missed lunch, so Ron was absolutely ravenous by dinnertime. The only problem was the food. It wasn't nearly as much as he could consume, or had in the past, but he knew he wouldn't be able to eat without feeling the overwhelming need to get rid of it, and he wasn't sure how that would go down here.

Before going into the dining room, a small brunette informed him that it wasn't required to finish meals on the first day, but then she looked him over and said, "Or maybe you'll eat it all anyway."

So he decided to prove her wrong.

He felt many eyes on him as he picked at his dinner. Perhaps it was because he was the only boy, but maybe it was the fact that he wasn't nearly as skinny as the rest of them. Compared to them, he looked like a whale.

He tuned out as the rest of them played a word game and instead focused on his food and grumbling stomach. He started reasoning with himself. _Maybe just half of it. It won't be terrible if I keep in half of this._

So he ate half of his dinner. And then the other half. The girl from earlier gave him a satisfied smirk, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had to get rid of it.

"Excuse me?" he said, hoping to get the attention of a staff. Instead, he got the attention of everyone, as it was the first time he'd spoken all meal. Or maybe he'd just been loud.

"Yes?" replied a staff sitting near him.

"I have to use the loo."

"I'm afraid we can't let you do that. Patients aren't allowed behind closed doors for an hour after they eat."

A panic started curling up in him. "But I have to piss," he said, more forcefully this time. A giggle came out of a few of the patients.

"Ronald, your name is?"

"Ron."

"Well, Ron, how about we have a chat outside, okay?" Angrily, he got up and stalked out of the dining room. "Can you tell me what's upsetting you?" she asked.

"I have to use the toilet."

"But do you see the reasoning as to why you can't?" She was being very calm, and Ron admired her for being able to do that with his very obvious freak-out.

"No, I do not."

She breathed a deep sigh. "Okay, and I get that, but I still can't let you use the bathroom."

Abruptly, Ron turned on his heel and ran in the opposite direction. He ignored the staff's calls of "Where are you going?" and focused on trying to find a bathroom or trashcan or _something_ he can puke in. He was thinking about settling for a flower pot, when he spied an open bathroom door.

He quickly shut himself inside, noted there was no lock (of course), and readied himself above the toilet, fingers down throat.

Spit dripped off his hand, and his eyes watered and his stomach contracted and he heaved but nothing came out. He stuck his hand in farther, wiggled around his fingers, and tried to breathe. A chunk of food came out. Repeat.

He heard murmured voices outside the bathroom, and tried his best to listen, but to also get the puking done with as soon as possible.

"He's being sick in there, I can hear him," one person said quietly.

"Would you like me to go in and pull his head out of the toilet?" asked the woman from earlier in a harsh, slightly exasperated whisper.

"It's his first night. I think we can let this slide." This was a man's voice.

He heard a sigh, and a pair of shoes walking away. There was a knocking on the door, and the man said, "Ron, are you doing alright in there?"

"What the bloody hell do you think?"

"Right, well I'm going to come in now."

Ron couldn't fathom why this guy would want to enter (Make him feel embarrassed so he would stop? See that he wasn't hurting himself in any other way? Go back on his word and pull him away?), but he continued his actions as the door opened and closed.

He refused to meet the man's eyes as he washed up, but he caught glimpses of him in the mirror: tall and lean, with closely cropped greying hair.

"Ron, I'm Dr. Simon, and I'm going to be your therapist during your stay here. How would you like to have a little chat in my office?"

Ron allowed his eyes to flit up, briefly catching the doctor's icy blue ones. "Can I brush my teeth first?"

* * *

**Sorry this is a bit shorter than usual. See above the first note for my excuse.**

**While I've still got you here: I was thinking about adding original characters, and I need help. I don't want them to suck. So... ideas? Please?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Look who didn't wait a month between updates. But this chapter was inspired. I sat down one night with an idea in my head, and suddenly I had 800 words on the page. Woohoo!**

**So yeah. Continue on.**

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The first few days were tough. He slipped up and purged a couple of times. The staff always seemed to catch him, though. Well, his pattern wasn't all too hard to guess. He was given worksheet after worksheet about why he shouldn't purge. He attended groups, and listened as the skeletons of young girls shared their horror stories. Nothing really sunk in.

Ron wanted to live, but he didn't want to stop. Forgot how to stop. Somewhere in him, he knew that eating and keeping it down wouldn't make him fat, but he just couldn't comprehend the fact. He knew that puking was gross, and he hated it, but it filled him with a sick sense of satisfaction. He wanted that feeling of relief he had when he got everything out. He wanted to satisfy his ever-present hunger, and feel no guilt after.

The first weekend, his mom and dad visited. It was awkward and quiet. They seemed to avoid the topic of his eating habits, and Ron was just fine with that.

The next days after that were a bit better. He didn't purge as much, and Dr. Simon said he was making progress, but it sure didn't feel it. Ron was constantly anxious and restless, he felt bloated, and he had a bit of trouble with…. er… using the toilet.

He was put on anti-anxiety medication, given a daily laxative, and offered Tums all the time. He graciously accepted all three.

One day for dinner, they were served a pudding cup as one of their 4-times-a-week desserts. He had binged on pudding cups in the past, and he knew he couldn't eat it without needing to get rid of it. Which then got him to thinking that if he ate any of it, he would need to puke it up, and he couldn't do that because his esophagus was a wreck and he didn't really want to die, but what harm could skipping one meal be?

So Ron pushed away his tray and lay his head on the table.

He ignored the staff as they gently asked him to please eat, or encouraged him to tell them what was wrong.

After the meal, the patients went around and said how the meal had been for them. Ron still hadn't picked up his head. When it was his turn, the staff tried to coax something – anything – out of him. After a few minutes of their prodding, he mumbled something into his arms.

"What was that, Ron?"

"If I had eaten it, I would have had to get rid of it," he said again, raising his head out of his hands.

"Why do you feel that way?"

"I just _do_, okay?" Anger started boiling up in him, itching at the surface.

"I understand that you –"

"No you don't!" he shouted. "You don't understand! None of you do!" And he stormed out of the room. He kicked over a potted plant, punched a wall, rammed his body against the door of the unit over and over, needing to get out. It was too much. It wasn't enough. He tucked his knees under himself and started bawling.

He didn't notice when a staff came to sit beside him and rub his back, nor when his hand was bandaged and the plant picked back up.

When he couldn't possibly cry any more, he looked up. "I'm sorry," he croaked to the pretty young staff next to him.

"Don't be sorry, sweetie. Everyone gets upset sometimes."

"I kind of feel like I'm stuck in limbo, y'know?"

"I actually don't know. Want to tell me about it?"

Ron paused, thought for a moment. He hardly knew this woman, knew that her name was Rebecca, but she seemed nice and open and didn't try to shove all this therapy crap down his throat and he thought that just maybe he could trust her. He decided to shrug; this seemed to be his go-to for the past few weeks.

"Well, if you decide you ever do want to talk about it, just find me, okay?"

Ron nodded, and she stood and pulled him up as well. "Thank you," he said. "For dealing we me, I guess."

She let out a small laugh. "This is my job, you know. I actually _choose_ to be here, crazy as that sounds. I like working with you kids. And I don't just 'deal with you'."

Ron smiled a bit. "Can't imagine wanting to be here," he mumbled.

Rebecca rolled her eyes. "Well, how about some dinner, and I can talk about why I want to work with a bunch of kids with eating disorders, and you can tell me why you feel like you're in limbo."

So they sat alone in the dining room. Ron ate his previously untouched dinner, and listened to Rebecca's story. He stared at her with large eyes when she told him of her bout with anorexia when she was a teenager. She instilled in him the belief that recovery was possible.

"Why do you feel like you're in limbo?" she asked after Ron finished eating.

"Nothing is getting better, but nothing is getting worse." He gave a shrug. "Kind of a cycle. Every day feels the same, and I don't feel like I'm making progress."

She cocked her head, and Ron was vaguely reminded of a puppy. "But don't you see that by telling me this stuff, you _are_ making progress?" Ron shrugged once more. "Well, you are. And you'd make even more progress by letting other people in, not just me."

"I don't really want to be friends with anyone here, no offense to them or anything."

She nodded. "Well, you don't have to be friends with any of them yet, but maybe just give them a chance?"

"I feel like they're all judging me. I'm fatter than all of them. They just stare at me and watch me eat while they're just these bloody twigs! It's not fair!"

Rebecca thought for a moment. "It's not fair. But maybe you should talk about this in group."

"Why? So they can judge me even more?"

"No. So they can realize what they're doing is upsetting you and work on it."

Ron paused, frowning. "I dunno. I'll think about it, I guess."

Rebecca smiled. "That's all I wanted you to do, anyway."

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**I don't know how I feel about these one scene chapters... ah well. I have a pretty good idea of what I'm gonna do with this story, so now the only problem is getting the thoughts onto the page. So please be patient with me.**

**I am also LOVING the feedback this is getting! It makes me feel really good. So... keep it comin'.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Well, last time you got an update in six days, so it's only fair that this one took about two weeks. Er... I'm gonna pretend that makes sense. _I_ don't make sense right now. I'm running on only a few hours of sleep and am in a slightly manic state so... yeah! But I decided that I needed to finish this and upload this RIGHT NOW so here ya go. Uh, it's a bit angsty. Have fun with that.**

* * *

The next day in group therapy, instead of staying quiet like he usually did, Ron shared. Granted, it was about sports and was largely censored because Muggles couldn't know about Quidditch, but it counted for something. He even got some approving smiles from the staff and a few patients.

After the group, a girl, Imogen, came over and started talking to him. He felt awkward, but she was able to get him to open up fairly quickly. Before he knew it, he was telling her everything about Harry and Hermione, and the struggles of having such a big family, and she told of her own life in return. He had to say that it was more helpful than any of his therapy sessions with Dr. Simon so far.

He sat next to Imogen at dinner that night, where they started up a conversation about the Underground. They seemed to think it funny that Ron had never been on one.

After dinner, the girl found Ron standing outside a restroom and brought him back to the dayroom, where the redhead put his head in his hands and stayed there for a solid hour. Imogen rubbed his back and told him that it would be okay.

A few days later, he received a letter from Hermione. She said she missed him (which his heart leapt at), and hoped to see him soon. She also said she believed in him, and Ron decided that he at least needed to try this recovery thing, even if only for Hermione's sake.

Before he knew it, it had been a week since he last purged, longer than it had been in over a year. He told the girls in group that day, and they celebrated by letting him choose what to watch on the telly.

Everything felt pretty good, all things considered. He felt safe in this Muggle hospital. Sure, not being able to use magic was inconvenient, but he wasn't worried about You-Know-Who or managing Harry's mood swings or doing all his homework. It was really relaxing.

And then his dad got attacked.

He was awoken in the middle of the night by one of the staff, who led him to an office. She explained that his dad was in the hospital, for what she was not sure, but he was alive. He asked to talk to his mom, but they sent Lupin instead because Mrs. Weasley was not in the best state to explain things.

"Your father was attacked by You-Know-Who's snake," the man said as soon as they were alone in the office and he had cast a Silencing charm over the door.

"Is—Will he be—"

"He's going to live. They found him just in time." Lupin's voice was tense. "I'm so sorry this has to happen to you, especially now." The older man gave Ron a once over.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked defensively.

"Just that you're going through a rough time," he said quickly, trying to undo any of the damage. "The Muggles might not even let you see him."

"They won't?! Why not?! He's my dad! I have to see him!" He could feel tears prickling in his eyes, but tried to ignore them.

"I'm going to talk them, but I promise that we will keep you updated.

"This isn't fair." A tear unwittingly slid down his cheek. "None of it."

"I know," Lupin said solemnly. "Life can be horrible," a small smile graced his scarred features, "but we learn to work through it and appreciate the good parts."

"I'm not really in the mood for a pep talk."

"Right. Well, I need to be off soon."

The older man stood up, but Ron grabbed onto an edge of his tattered coat before he left the room. "Please talk to them," he said quietly.

"I will."

* * *

Whatever Lupin had said must have done the trick, because the next day, Ron was allowed to visit his dad at St. Mungo's for three hours.

Upon seeing his father, wrapped in bandages and unconscious, something snapped in him. He felt like it was his fault, like he could have stopped it. If he had been thinking rationally, he would have known this wasn't the case.

The people around the bed didn't notice him walk him, and they didn't notice him walk out either.

Somehow, Ron found himself in the food court, eating and eating on autopilot. Only when he felt like he might be sick if he ate any more did he stop. He looked at the table he was sitting at, covered in empty plates and wrappers.

He didn't know how his mom had found him, but he was really grateful that she did. The woman just held him and they cried together. After a little while, he pulled back and said, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said.

"It's not, though. I wasn't with you guys when Dad got attacked. If I hadn't been so stupid and gotten myself put in the bloody hospital then I could have helped. I could have stopped it."

His mom enveloped him in another hug. "It is not your fault. There is nothing you could have done, nothing anyone could have done, to stop it. We are all doing the best we can."

"Mum?" he said after a bit more time.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"I'm also sorry for probably putting a few extra galleons on the bill. With… food."

The woman surveyed the array of dirty dishes in front of them. "Did you… um, get rid of it?"

"No." Ron looked down at himself, at his bloated stomach. "I do feel sick, though."

Mrs. Weasley scoffed. "Well, I would imagine so. But let's go see if they can't get you anything for that."

"You're not going to let me get rid of it, are you?"

"What do _you_ think the answer to that question is?"

Ron allowed himself a small smile.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, he sat by his dad's bedside, trying to keep himself distracted from the copious amounts of food sitting in his stomach. No one said much of anything, and Ron was kind of grateful for the silence. He didn't want to have to talk about his own issues and what went on when he last saw everyone.

Harry had dark rings under his eyes and a glazed-over look to him. He eventually got himself and Harry away from the crowd once Hermione showed up.

Ron was glad he and Harry were able to pick up their friendship as if their last fight had never happened, though he knew they would need to discuss it eventually. Hermione went on about O.W.L.s and Dumbledore's Army and Umbridge's ridiculous classes. He found himself laughing along and even sharing a few anecdotes of his own. Harry, however, seemed distant.

When questioned, he told Ron about the dream involving his dad, to which he replied that he was thankful Harry was able to help. The black haired boy shrugged it off.

They then walked in on Moody saying that he thought Harry could be possessed by Voldemort. Harry grew even quieter after that.

Eventually, Ron's time was up and he was returned to the Muggle hospital. Walking onto the familiar unit, he found he could breathe a little easier. It was his safe haven, and honestly, he was glad to be back.

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**And there you have it. I originally had the conversation between Ron and Imogen in it, but I didn't like how it was turning out, so I took it out. However, I do still have the conversation, so if anyone would like to read it, post a review or something and maybe I'll upload it. Or something.**

**But anyway. Have a nice night (or morning, depending you're reading this) and be good to yourself. Don't pay too much attention to my rambles. Oh and also some reviews would be nice. If ya know what I'm saying.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry this chapter has taken so long. I feel awful for making you guys wait. Insert excuses here.**

**So, before I start this chapter, I would just like to say thank you to everyone who has reviewed thus far. They really make me feel good about this story and my writing in general. I've gotten great ideas from you guys, and they have inspired me to continue. There probably won't be many more chapters after this, so I hope you guys continue to read and review. Emphasis on the review. It seems they've slowed down a bit. I'm not gonna force anyone, or guilt you guys into it… but a few more would be nice.**

**Kay. That's all I have to say for now.**

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Ron was kept updated on the goings on at Hogwarts by letters. He kept track of the teachers Umbridge fired, the scores of the latest Quidditch match, and the progress of getting others to believe that You-Know-Who was back, but the magical world was never really at the front of his mind.

His and Imogen's friendship continued to flourish, and he even started hanging around some of the other patients. A couple of days after he got back from his visit to his dad, another boy arrived, and Ron got a roommate.

Ron had walked into his room and saw a sickly thin boy on the other bed. The boy gave a tight smile and offered a bony hand. "I'm Brendan."

Ron tentatively shook the hand, afraid he might break it. "Ron."

"I guess I'm your roommate?" Even his voice sounded thin.

"It seems so."

"My parents think I have an eating disorder," he stated.

"And you don't?" Ron asked, eyeing the shoulder bones that stuck out even under three layers of clothes, the dark smudges under his eyes, the sunken look of his cheeks.

"'Course not. I'm just naturally thin."

"I hate to break it to you, but this isn't natural."

"Are you jealous?"

Ron paused. He didn't _like_ his own body the way it was, but he didn't want to look like _that_. "Not particularly."

"Are you lying?"

"Are you also naturally a dick? You know, along with being naturally thin?"

"I'm allowed to be a dick. It's my eating disorder talking."

"You mean the eating disorder you don't think you have?"

Brendan crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes, huffing out a breath.

"Right. Well, I'm gonna go get a staff before you give yourself a heart attack." He walked out and found a staff a few feet away from the door. "You can deal with him now," Ron said as he started towards the day room. "Got himself all riled up. Naturally thin, my arse."

"How's the roommate?" Imogen asked, coming up to him from behind.

"I honestly don't know how I'm going to live with him without going completely mad. Says he doesn't have a bloody eating disorder. He's a bloody twig!"

"I think your face is 'bout the same colour as your hair right now," Imogen joked, but Ron was not in the mood.

"Fantastic," he muttered.

"Listen," she said firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Chances are, you'll be out here in a few weeks, and then you won't ever have to deal with him again. And I'm sure he won't be that bad once you get to know 'im."

Ron rolled his eyes and flopped on the couch. "D'you really think they'll let me go in a few weeks?"

"Well, yeah. You're not purging all that much any more—"

"I binged on my visit," he blurted.

"You did?"

"Why do you think I didn't eat dinner that night?"

"Oh."

"My mum told Dr. Simon, and he told the staff on, so they didn't force me."

"I was wondering that. Did you purge?"

"No. Felt bloody disgusting afterwards, though."

"Still progress."

Ron was quiet, thinking. Imogen turned on the telly to some show about buying wedding dresses. After a few minutes of silence between them, Ron asked, "What if I don't _want_ to go back home?"

"What you mean? Ev'ryone wants to get out."

"But my life is so _complicated_ outside of here."

"Not more'n ev'ryone else's."

"You don't even know the half of it."

She shrugged. "Guess not. You haven' really told me much, though."

"I told you all I could."

"What's that mean? You got some big secret there?" She playfully smiled and nudged him. And even though he knew she was joking, Ron's heart started pounding wildly. He decided to stay quiet. "Wait. You actually have got a secret, don't you? You can tell me anythin', y'know."

"It's not that big a deal, honestly."

"Are you gay?"

"What? No."

"You sure?"

"_Yes._"

"Cos I wouldn't have a problem with it if you were."

"Thank you – I guess? – but I'm not gay."

She nodded slowly. "We can talk about this later."

Ron rolled his eyes. Imogen smiled again, and they went back to watching the show.

A while later, dinner was called. After finding his menu and taking his seat, Ron looked around the table. Sitting opposite him was Brendan, bony arms crossed stubbornly over his chest, nose in the air, being closely monitored by a staff. "I'm not eating this rubbish," he stated.

"We're not going to force you," Rebecca the Staff said. "But it would be a good idea if you did."

"Well I'm not. This food looks bloody disgusting."

"Would you mind keeping that to yourself? Some of us are trying to eat," a small girl with lank blonde hair, Hannah, said.

"I don't know why you would," Brendan sneered. "You're just going to get fat." The already quiet room grew silent and extremely tense. "If you're going to get fat, at least get fat on _good_ food."

Everyone stared at the thin boy, unsure of how to react.

"Okay, listen, you little prat," Imogen said, pushing back her chair and standing up. "I don't care what you do and do not eat, but most ev'ryone else here does. And you going on about us getting fat is right nasty. So do yourself and ev'ryone else a favour and just shut up, yeah?"

Ron felt like clapping, and was sure he wasn't the only one; he could see a few poorly suppressed smiles, and even Rebecca gave the girl a thumbs up. But then she adopted her professional manner and said, "Please take your seat, Imogen."

Smirking, she sat down. Looking around at everyone still staring wide eyed at her, she said, "Carry on."

Just like that, the spell was broken, and the patients went back to their food. Small conversations broke out, and, even though they kept glancing surreptitiously towards the new boy's untouched plate, the rest all finished their own.

And for the remainder of the meal, Brendan didn't say a word.

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**Hope you guys like this chapter. Again, please review!**

**Oh, also, if you haven't noticed, I changed the title and summary. The old ones just weren't working for me. Sorry if this confuses you.**


	9. an

uhh hi? um, so i haven't updated this story for about a year and a half, now, and i feel pretty bad about that, because i know a lot of people were enjoying this, and that's absolutely amazing and mind blowing because like people actually _want_ to read my writing? it's crazy. ANYWAY i'm off topic. but yeah this isn't going to be continued, for a few reasons:

(1) since it has been over a year since i last worked on this story, my writing style has changed considerably. looking back on this honestly makes me cringe so hard.

(2) i stopped working on this story because i was very overwhelmed, both with school and my own eating disorder. now, over a year later, i'm in a much more stable place, a place where i would be able to write stories with themes like this one without getting triggered. now, you may be asking yourself, "well, why don't they just continue this one?" answer: i have no idea what i was planning on doing with it. at all. i have a poor memory to begin with, and, having made no outlines of any kind, i have no clue on where to go.

(3) if i were to continue this, i would have to completely re-write it. the writing makes me cringe, the pacing makes me cringe, the character development makes me cringe, the only thing i'm marginally proud of in this story is the dialogue. i actually have started a new story where i've been reworking all of this, though that shows no signs of getting finished soon.

(4) i no longer use . in my opinion, the site is clunky and just difficult to work with in general

(5) i'm in new fandoms. while i will always be faithful to harry potter, it has currently taken a backseat to the other fandoms i'm in.

overall, i'm very sorry that this story won't be continuing. it's been quite a journey, and i would like to thank everyone who has stuck by this story all this time, it honestly means so much. now, as i said before, i'm no longer using . so, if you would like to find me in other places, please feel free to check out my tumblr (username: lost-the-ability-to-even) or ao3 account (username: insert_something_clever_here). as of yet, not much has been posted to ao3, but i'm in the process of writing literally so many fics.

well yeah that's it lol. thanks! ^w^


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